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Poem

I am the ghost inside my chest, 
Unseen, unheard, yet never at rest. 
I drift through halls of memory, 
Where joy once lived but fled from me. 

My breath like frost, my blood runs cold, 
A whisper trapped in hands grown old. 
I wear regret like funeral lace, 
And see the world through sorrow’s face. 

The mirror knows what I conceal— 
A heart too numb, a pain too real. 
Each beat, a knock from deep within, 
A past that scratches at my skin. 

I haunt my name, I haunt my days, 
A soul lost in time’s cruel haze. 
They think I smile, but cannot see 
The grave I built inside of me. 

But still I ache, though silence wins, 
To feel the sun beneath my sins. 
For ghosts can hope—though dim, suppressed— 
To one day find peace at last.

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